


There's No Such Thing as an Accident

by Crollalanza



Category: Shaderunners (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, books are Ezra's life, mention of Lord Hareton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Ezra wants is a quiet moment or three with his book. </p>
<p>But Easton's heard something on the street, and now he wants a word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Such Thing as an Accident

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the creators of Shaderunners, Capp and Lin, or Lin and Capp, after a twitter conversation about Easton's scar ...
> 
> If you haven't discovered the Shaderunners webcomic, then I urge you to get on board because it's amazing.

“Hey, what ya doing?”

Ezra shifted in his chair. Hunched over his desk, he slowly lowered his hand from his brow, sliding it across the paper in front of him. A subtle movement, inching across, affecting casualness because even the most innocuous of movements made Easton suspicious when he was in one of his playful moods.

And from the way he began to whistle a slow hiss through his teeth as he longed against the wall, Easton Lynch was at his most playful.

“Nothing that would interest you,” Ezra murmured, keeping his back turned. He raised his other hand, flapping his fingers in the air. “It’s research. Historical.”

Far from looking bored and mooching away, Easton twisted his lips into an approximation of a smile, and sauntered closer. “Spill,” he said, taking a toke on his roll up.

“Nothing to share,” Ezra muttered.

“You’ve been in here for ages. Must have something to tell.”

Hearing that drawl of a voice creep closer, Ezra’s throat dried. He twisted around, facing Easton, meeting his gaze with a slow unblinking stare. “I don’t like to expound on my theories until I have an accurate hypotheses. At this moment in time, the knowledge I have gleaned is of a fragile and delicate nature and as such I am reluctant to distribute any of my knowledge in case it gives rise to what might only be a false hope and-”

“Okay, okay!” Easton yawned and tugged on his earlobe. “I get earache listening to you sometimes, Kelly. Any chance you could speak in words of one syllable for a change?”

“There. Is,” Ezra intoned carefully. “Not. A. Thing. To. Share.”

“And you’d tell us, right.” Easton pinched his cigarette between his thumb and his finger, eyes intent on the glowing stub.

“I’d tell Pamina,” Ezra replied. “We’d discuss and see if it’s of any use. You know how it works, Lynch.”

“Sure.” He took another drag, inhaling deeply. “So ... is it promising?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to do more work.” Swivelling back to his desk, he tucked in his knees, and prayed Easton would take the hint and leave.

He didn’t. The smell of the smoke filtering out of his lips wafted towards Ezra, settling in a fug around his shoulders.

“I am busy,” Ezra said.

“Uh huh, I can tell. But ... uh ... I got a problem, Kelly, and I kinda need someone to talk to about it.”

“Satinder will be back soon.”

“Like I hear things, ya know,” Easton continued as if Ezra hadn’t spoken. “In clubs. On the streets.” He paused, and Ezra could hear him sucking in more nicotine. “At the docks.”

“What things?” Ezra asked when the silence had dragged just a tad too long.

“’Bout a fancy gent,” Easton murmured. “You know the type. Believes himself quite the man about town. A debonair dandy. Get this, Ezra; he’s a real life Lord.”

Ezra froze. “What about him?”

“Well, Lord Fancy-Pants has this valet. A ‘Gentlemen’s Gentleman’ is what he calls himself. And he often takes a wander down the docks, looking for the rough trade, if ya get my meaning.”

“Is there a point to this story, or are you so without an activity to occupy your mind that you feel the need to disturb me? Only I do have something I would like to be getting on with.”

“Word is Lord Fancy’s got himself in a fluster,” Easton hissed. “Blushing over a fella, makin’ goo-goo eyes over him. Word is his gentlemen’s gentleman is able t’ get away with all sorts ‘cuz his master’s kinda distracted.”

And suddenly Easton was leering over him, his fingers teasing Ezra’s hair.

“Lord Hareton,” Easton said. “That’s the fancy gent’s name. Way I heard it, he was pining after an intellectual. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya, Ezra?”

“About what?” he snapped, jerking his head away.

He smirked, and bent down. Ezra could feel his hot breath on his neck, and steeled himself not to react, whatever the provocation.

“Hey, I ain’t complaining. This Swell’s got a packet o’ money and a wandering hand. Might as well make use of that.” he grinned. “Whaddyer say?”

“What do I say about what?” He turned his head away, his expression neutral, but the smell of stale sweat and cigarettes, the honest smell of the docks, and the less honest smell of Easton’s insalubrious life clung to him like a shroud.

He clicked his tongue and the smile that had played so salaciously on his lips thinned. “Don’t kid a kidder, Kelly. I know you’ve met the guy. Satinder saw ya both in the bookshop. Looked ecstatic, she said. ‘Course that coulda been the books. Never seen ya as happy as when surrounded by musty old parchment.”

Ezra swallowed. “I bumped into a man in the bookshop,” he murmured. “I didn’t catch his name.”

“An accident?”

“You could say that,” Ezra replied, and raising his hand, he pushed Easton away. “If that’s all, then I would be obliged if you’d leave.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe in accidents, ya know.  Kinda wonder if this was engineered,” Easton murmured. But he stepped back, taking one final drag of his cigarette before twisting it out with his boot. “He’s rich. Could be a good way in.”

Ezra didn’t answer. He stared down at his hands, willing Easton to leave so he could continue.

“Just as long as it ain’t a put up job. The Greys could be on to us.”

“It’s not. He’s ...” Ezra closed his eyes, heaved in a breath and let his shoulders drop.

“He’s what?” came the insidious voice.

“Knowledgeable,” Ezra said at last. “And he has the most enormous...”

He was close again, so close, Ezra could feel his stubble against his cheek and “Tell me more. All the dirt.”

He’d heard enough. Heard the grime in Easton’s voice, the opportunity for blackmail, his greed not allowing any finer thoughts enter his brain, Ezra picked up the one object he had to hand and -

“Details,” Easton was hissing. “Gimmee the lowdown and then we can – OW!”

Easton reeled as Ezra, his book in hand (Ironwell’s Guide to Nobility – an exceptionally heavy tome) whacked him on the head.

“Library!” he yelled. “Lord Hareton has an enormous library and I would thank you to keep your greasy nose out of my business, Lynch!”

Clasping his hand to his head, a desperate attempt to contain the flow of blood, Easton nonetheless crooked a smile up at his attacker. “S’pose you’re gonna tell me that was an accident,” he moaned.

Tossing him a handkerchief, Ezra sat back at his desk and reopened his book. “I thought you didn’t believe in accidents,” he replied.

And then his eyes gleamed, and he closed out the distraction of Easton’s pitiful moans as he lost himself in the description of Hareton Hall’s magnificent collection of books.


End file.
